can't help falling in love
by ninetiesbecca
Summary: AU, Pretty Woman-esque Mondler fic. Monica Geller takes on a new client, Chandler Bing. Will they be satisfied with their arrangement, or will their growing feelings get in the way? Not a songfic like the title suggests.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is… an AU, kind of darker than my last fic, but probably still not that dark. I'm really nervous about the feedback on this one, I'll admit. Basically Chandler and Monica don't know each other, Chandler has just broken up with Kathy and Monica is a prostitute. Please note that I'm not trying to make any kind of commentary or judgement on sex work, this is just something I really had to write. And sure, maybe it's a little out of character for Monica to be a prostitute, or for Chandler to ever pay for one, but please just suspend your disbelief. I've read stories like this for other couples but haven't seen this done before with Mondler and I thought it would be kind of interesting. So yeah, tell me whether it sucked or not. Actually, if you hated it, don't tell me – I'm fragile. I really didn't want to commit to another multi-chapter just yet since I have exams next month, but I just couldn't help myself – following what I have in mind, I think this will actually end up being longer than my last one. But we'll see. Hope you enjoy! :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own 'Friends' or the characters.**

* * *

I slam my drink down on the bar, unable to shake her memory from my mind.

She cheated on me. She actually cheated on me. She couldn't even spare the courtesy to break up with me before she went off fucking another guy. Her desire to fuck someone else was so powerful, so overwhelming, that in that moment, the love she said she had for me, the work we had put into our relationship, meant nothing to her. Just like that. A years' worth of love and trust and friendship just faded into insignificance. All because she was horny.

She said it only happened the one time, that my inability to get off of working late on our anniversary had been the final straw, pushing her into the arms of another man. The possibility that she was lying, that rather than spontaneous lust, the affair was the product of multiple calculated rendezvous', is almost too much for me to bare.

My throat stings as I down another shot, enjoying the feeling, how it complements the way my eyes burn with tears.

I feel so angry, but as much as I want to, I know I can't place all the blame on her. I should've been the one to make her feel that way, and I wasn't. It was my duty, as her boyfriend, and I failed.

I feel so inadequate, and so fucking _stupid_. I should've seen this coming. Our relationship had been falling apart for some time – it had stopped being about love and romance and had started to become a union of familiarity and convenience.

I was in denial. I'd thought, for once in my life, I was in a serious, committed relationship. I wasn't prepared to do anything that might mess that up, even though I wasn't truly happy. Despite the cracks beneath the surface, the relationship still meant something to me. I cared for her, and I never would've hurt her this way.

I indicate to the bartender to pull me another drink. He complies, all the while giving me a pitying look that I imagine he serves all his customers hoping to drink themselves into oblivion.

Looking back on our relationship – it's not like I can think about anything else – I decide that I probably wasn't in love with her. I thought I was, at the time, but if you have to think about it, is it truly love? I realise that I'm probably not going to miss her much – that losing _her_ isn't the worst part about all of this.

It's what she represented.

 _She_ meant that I had someone. _She_ meant that I wasn't going to die alone. _She_ meant that I wasn't a dysfunctional fuck up incapable of having a real relationship. But I was wrong about her, and I was wrong about all of that stuff too. It's never gonna happen for me.

I had it, and I fucked it up. I fucked it up, as usual, because that's what I do. That's all I'm good for.

I hear a creak on the stall next to me, the sound interrupting my thoughts, and the quiet of the empty bar – a rarity in Manhattan.

I look up and see a woman, around my age, with dark hair and big blue eyes. My eyes flicker back down to the drink I'm yet to touch, not caring to engage in interaction with another human being so soon.

"That won't solve anything, you know."

My head jerks up, startled by her forwardness. She's leaning in a little now, and I notice that she has a smattering of freckles across her fair skin, like stars lit up in the night's sky.

"How do you know there's anything to solve?" I ask lamely. As if I couldn't be more obvious.

She snorts.

"So, you're chugging pure vodka, _alone_ , for the taste?"

Feeling petty, I down the shot in my hand, not in the mood for her smugness.

"I'm not alone _now_ , am I?" I counter.

She rolls her eyes.

I gesture to the bartender to bring me another shot, feeling her relentless stare pierce the side of my head.

"So, it's a girl, I take it." I'm not sure whether she means it as a question or a statement, but I splutter (on absolutely nothing, the shot still resting in my hand) regardless.

"W-what?" I say, stunning even myself with my lack of eloquence. I curse myself inwardly for being so transparent.

"Oh, I'm sorry, a guy?" she snickers teasingly.

I clear my throat, trying to regain my ability of proper speech, and my dignity.

"You're lucky it's not, because I'd be feeling really offended right now."

"So, a girl, then?" she repeats, refusing to back down. I sigh.

"Is it really so hard to believe that I just enjoy the flavour?" I ask dramatically, sipping on the shot to prove my point.

She shakes her head.

"Some people do, I guess." I sit back, hoping she's dropped it.

"But somehow, I don't think that's it." Her voice is gentle, understanding, for the first time.

What the hell.

"You're right. You're right, it's a girl," I begin, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. I sneak another glance at her face, and she would look apathetic, if not for the pensive gleam in her eyes. "Her name is Kathy. Long story short, we dated for a year and last night, she cheated on me," I recount as her mouth drops into a soft 'o' shape.

"I'm sorry," she says tentatively.

"It's fine, it's whatever," I reply, probably sounding like a whiny teenager but not really feeling like baring my soul to a stranger. I'm unsure as to why I've shared with her this much.

"You're better off without her," she says, meeting my eyes confidently.

I scoff. Like she knows anything.

"Why do you care?" I spit venomously.

"I... I don't care," she dismisses me, "this is what I do."

Wait, what?

"What do you doooo?" I drawl mockingly. She tilts her body towards me, and my eyes drop down, noticing her ample cleavage clad in a lacy black bralette-thing. She's also wearing ripped denim shorts, fishnets and knee high boots.

She begins drawing circles on my hand with her finger, causing my hairs to stand on end.

"I go to bars," she starts, "and when I see guys who seem down, I offer to take them home and… make them feel a little better. For a price, obviously."

I jerk my hand away from hers.

"Y-you're a h-hooker?!" I cry, alarmed.

"You're articulate," she smirks, apparently humoured by my reaction.

"B-but why?" I feel like I should run far, far away right about now, but I don't.

"Look, relax, I know what you're thinking. 'Whore', 'walking STD', I've heard them all, so save it, fella. Jeez, you guys think we're all dirty bimbos, regardless of how meticulously we use protection or how often we get tested…" she trails off, somewhere between a ramble and a rant.

"No, I just… why? I mean, you're beautiful, funny, smart" – I quickly cut myself off, realising that I'm probably doing nothing to discourage her advances.

She huffs.

"It's my life," she says defensively.

"N-no, I know," I stammer, not wanting her to misunderstand, "I'm not judging, I just… I don't understand." She frowns, like she was expecting me to say something else. "I mean… like, are you really living your dream here?"

She bites down on her lip, averting her gaze to the floor.

"If you must know, I wanted to be a chef." I raise my eyebrows, having anticipated actress or singer or something far more… showbiz. "I went to culinary school, and after I left, what with my debts and just a low-income job, it wasn't the most… comfortable of lifestyles. I actually started this a few years ago when a guy at a club hit on me and offered me money… I thought, since I was attracted to him anyway, it'd be an easy and painless way to make a few bucks. And so, after that, it just kind of… stuck."

I swallow, unsure how to respond, but my interest in this woman fully piqued.

"With the money I earn… it's addictive. It's kind of empowering. I bet I make more dollar than you," she quips with a smile, tugging at the lapels of my suit jacket. It suddenly hits me how close we are, and her scent is intoxicating, nearly knocking me off my stool. For some reason, this woman intrigues me, and I decide I'm going to do whatever I can to get to know her better.

"Let's do it," I announce, catching her off guard as she jumps back.

"W-what?!" she cries incredulously.

"Let's do it. I'm not kidding. I don't care what your rates are" –

"Why not?" she questions, panicked for some reason. Oh, shit. I can't seem too desperate.

"I-I mean. Look, I have really little life, okay?" – _not helping!_ I scream internally – "before I started seeing Kathy, it had been a really long time since I… y-know". She chuckles at this, to my relief. "And I'm guessing, now that we're broken up, it's gonna be a while again… so I figure, why not?" She seems to be contemplating my seriousness, so I keep going. "And we're kind of… friends now, right?" She pulls an unconvinced face. It's a bit of a long shot – we don't even know each other's names. "You're the first person who knows I broke up with Kathy, and you basically told me your life story. That's got to count for something. We'll be, like, friends with benefits. With me paying you. But maybe don't think of it as a payment – think of it as post-coital compensation to make up for what I'm sure will be a less than stellar performance on my part," – oh my God, if she didn't think I was pathetic already, she does now. I feel my face heat up in embarrassment. Fortunately, she seems to find it endearing, because she breaks into a soft laugh.

"You know, just because we're 'friends'" – she begins, complete with air quotation marks – "it doesn't mean you get a discount."

I grin, strangely enamoured with this woman already.

"Okay, well, if you're sure. You're gonna have to sign a contract."

She must detect the confusion in my expression as she then elaborates, "all my clients sign one. It's to say you have a clean bill of health. Y'know, for legal reasons."

"Like any of this is legal," I say dryly. She punches me gently on the shoulder.

"There are a few other conditions, of course. Wear a condom, no eye contact, no kissing on the lips" –

"What? Why not?" I inquire, feeling shamefully disappointed.

"It's too… you know," her eyes dart to the floor as a blush creeps up her cheeks. "It's too intense. Too intimate."

"Oh, so we're having sex, but _kissing_ is too intimate?!"

" _We're_ not having sex until you agree to the terms and sign the damn contract."

"Fine," I tell her, defeated. She glares at me and neither of us make a move to leave.

"So… what now?" I venture, ending the silent staring competition we had fallen into.

"Are you sure about this?" She checks, and I nod eagerly, though I'm still not entirely sure whether I know what I'm getting myself into.

Something in her switches, and she slowly walks towards me, closing the distance between us, and suddenly I can feel her warm breath on my ear. I shiver, and become flustered thinking about the hold she has over me already. I can't believe I'm actually going to sleep with this woman.

"My name's Monica. Monica Geller."

I cough slightly.

"Nice to meet you, Monica Monica Geller," I tease her, "I'm Chandler Bing."

* * *

 **A/N: So… how was it? Good? Bad? Cringier than a 1980s porno? Should I continue, or would you be happy to see this story burn and die? If the reception to this is decent, the next chapter will probably be from Monica's point of view, and I'll alternate the two of them between chapters. I'm not sure whether I write a very believable Chandler perspective, this was my first attempt at doing so – any feedback would be gladly received. Thank you so much for all the kind responses to my last story – reviews to this would be much appreciated, too. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the positive response to the first chapter of this fic! To be clear, this isn't really based on Pretty Woman, and isn't going to be Mondler inserted into the scenes or anything like that – I've never actually seen that movie, but I'm familiar with the general concept and thought that since it's pretty popular, including it in the description might endear people to this story and avoid turning them off at the whole prostitute idea. Doesn't seem like it really worked, since most of you weren't sold on the summary, but I'm delighted I won you over in the end! Here's the next chapter – hope it lives up to the previous one! Monica lives in the same apartment as on the show, so have that in mind when it comes to the description. Oh, and this is Monica's perspective, by the way. Tell me which you prefer!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own 'Friends' or the characters. I feel like Chandler clones would be big business for Kauffman, Crane and Bright, though.**

* * *

Chandler and I get a taxi back to my apartment, and I spend the entire ride watching him like a hawk, trying to gauge any hints of uncertainty or regret in his expression, but I find none. I tip the driver, and Chandler remains seated and wide-eyed, hilariously unaware of the correct decorum in these kinds of situations.

I open my own door, hoping that he will follow suit with his, but he stays glued to his seat.

"You can let yourself out," I begin, "you're paying me for sex, not chivalry." His eyebrows shoot upwards at my bluntness, but he follows my example as I step out the car.

"Maybe I can let the chivalry thing go, but I definitely need to be wined and dined, first," he jokes. His pace falls in line with mine as I lead him to my apartment building.

"With all the alcohol you've ingested tonight already? I don't think so," I reply, humouring him as we climb the steps, "and trust me, if I were cooking for you, I'd be charging you much higher. For some reason, most of my clients don't go for that little add-on extra."

His face lights up at this information.

"I will," he blurts out, and I pause. "I mean, if this were online shopping, I would totally be adding that option to the basket right now."

I stifle a giggle.

"Chandler, I'm not serious. I don't actually offer to cook for my customers."

He turns slightly red, and I scold myself for finding his innocence adorable.

"Well, why not? I mean, you'd make a fortune. It's a winning combination. Food and sex. That's the dream, right?"

"It does sound pretty good, Bing," I say with a smirk.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Last name basis already, Geller?"

I roll my eyes affectionately.

"Anyway," I sigh dramatically, "I'm a prostitute, not a housewife-for-hire. I'm not sure there's much of a market for the latter."

He turns serious, eyeing me up intensely, as if I've just reminded him of the nature of his visit.

"You're not a regular prostitute, though," he eventually declares, after a moment's contemplation.

"Oh, yeah?" I challenge him, "how many of us have you met? You don't exactly seem like the kind of guy who makes a habit of renting hookers."

"Hey!" he exclaims in mock offence, "you don't know me. I could be Chandler Bing, data analyser by day, pimp by night."

"Oh, wow," I chuckle, "I'm not sure which of those is worse. And I meant it as a compliment, by the way," I say sincerely as he meets my eyes. "Most guys I get treat me like a piece of meat they can ravage unconditionally. Or like their newest, shiniest toy that they then get bored with by the end of the night. Or both. I don't blame them, exactly. Expecting and accepting all that is kind of in the job description. But still, you've been somewhat of a breath of fresh air, and I appreciate it, even if you are totally out of your depth here," I finish lightly.

He ignores my last remark.

"Cook for me," he commands softly, his voice sounding like a wish being granted. "I mean, only if you want to, of course. But I think you want to."

I bite my lip, touched by his gesture. It's been so long since I've cooked for someone else.

"Why?" I whisper, prompting him to frown.

"I don't know," he mumbles, clearly having not thought this through. "Maybe because I know you love it, and I know you wish you made a living from it. And, y'know, since we agreed that we're friends now, I should be helping you achieve your dreams, and I'll pay you – or not, if you don't want me to – but it could be a nifty little earner" – his ramble is drowned out by the sound of his stomach rumbling, and we both burst out laughing. "Yeah, it's probably just the hunger talking," he quips, jokingly downplaying his offer.

"You really want me to cook for you?" I ask shyly, just to make sure.

"Nearly as much as I want the sex," he winks, and I feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

"You don't even know if I'm good or not. Maybe there's a reason I never made it as a chef," I state sadly, having intended it to be a joke before realising that it could very well be true.

"I think I'll take that risk," he says confidently, making me feel all warm and happy.

"Okay, deal," I announce, still unsure about what I'm getting from this agreement. "Dinner's on me. For being the most tolerable company I've had in years."

He gives me a small half-smile at this news, making passing up on earning some extra money totally worth it.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Chandler asks, his eyes radiating concern.

"More than okay," I tell him reassuringly, "but just like with the sex, no dinner until you sign the contract. Don't think that you can start suing my ass if I give you food poisoning."

He laughs wholeheartedly as I invite him into my apartment.

"Is a tour of your residence another one of those little add-on options you mentioned earlier, hmm? Trying to milk me for all I'm worth?"

I laugh, surprised at how easy it is to keep a conversation going with this guy.

"It's usually all-inclusive, but give me anymore backchat and I'll be forced to reconsider," I counter, matching his grin with mine.

We make our way through the open-plan kitchen and dining room before I lead him to the bedroom, in all its sparkling clean glory.

"So…" he trails off, taking in the room before him. There's nothing in it out of the ordinary, but he swallows anyway at the implications.

"So…" I mirror him, my voice evaporating into silence, and for the first time, it's awkward. "This is where the magic happens," I say suggestively.

I go next door – a room that was originally a bedroom, but that's now being used as a sort of office due to me not having a roommate.

"You okay?" I ask as I hear him follow me inside, not wanting to go on while things are still tense. "We don't have to" –

"No," he says, snapping back to reality. "No. I, I… I want to," he finishes quietly, and I don't understand why he's so insistent, but I'm glad he's not backing out.

"Here are the standard forms you need to fill in, contracts to sign," I say nonchalantly, handing him a pen. "I'll leave you here to look through all of this while I get started on dinner."

He looks up at me and gives me a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. I take that as a cue to continue.

"And, Chandler, if you really aren't sure whether you want to do this… don't do it. You can stay for dinner, we'll go our separate ways and then you'll never think of all this – or, or me – again."

With that, I leave him to it, convincing myself that I could forget him, too.

* * *

Twenty minutes and an almost cooked Italian dish later, Chandler emerges from the 'office', paperwork in hand.

"All done," he says, passing it back to me. I give it a quick scan, before casting it aside, satisfied with his answers. I notice the envelope of cash he's slipped in with it, discretely, as if he doesn't want to make a big deal out of that part.

"That… should do nicely," I say, my breath hitching as his lust-filled eyes meet mine, and I fail to recall a time where a client had looked at me with such desire without it being sleazy and making me feel cheap.

Our moment is interrupted by the oven timer beeping.

"Dinner's ready!" I say overly cheerful, trying to dispel the sexual tension.

"What are we having?" he grins goofily, taking a seat at the table. I'd decided against lighting the single candle that sits in the middle of it to hopefully avoid him getting the wrong idea – I'm still unsure as to why I've allowed myself to get so friendly with a client.

"Only Manhattan's finest mac and cheese," I declare, and I laugh at his thrilled reaction.

I dish up the food, and take my seat across from him, watching him dig in. Almost immediately, he closes his eyes in pleasure, and I blush.

"Oh my God, Monica," he says, and I grin smugly while also feeling a little turned on by his near orgasmic response to my food. We continue to eat in a comfortable silence, but I'm too distracted looking for signs of his approval to focus on my own food.

"Seriously, Mon, you are wasted doing… what you do," Chandler praises me, and I fail to acknowledge his use of the nickname. "We have got to do this again." He says it so candidly, like it goes without saying, and I feel panic coarse through my body. I push back my chair and stand.

"You know, Chandler, I'm glad you liked the food and all, but I'm not so sure this was a good idea."

He freezes for a second, and I swear I can see fear in his eyes. He slowly gets up and walks over to me, and I know what's coming.

"What? Why?"

"Look, I'm kind of only planning on this being a onetime thing. I don't date my clients. In fact, I don't date at all." I stare at the floor, soon feeling guilty for letting him down so harshly.

"I-I don't want to date you!" he stutters and I raise an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Chandler, you're a nice guy, but if you can't handle this" –

"Jeez, I compliment your food and you think I want marriage?!" he shouts defensively. "I was just trying to do something nice and treat you like an actual human being. If that's so horrible, why did you go along with it?!"

"I don't know, Chandler!" I exclaim, cursing myself for getting wrapped up in his charm and actually indulging his request. "It's been fucking forever since someone offered to _pay_ _me_ to cook. I guess I just got caught up in the fact that you genuinely believed I could have talents and skills beyond being a good fuck and I wanted to prove it. To you, to myself, I don't know. I don't… hate my job, Chandler. It sure has its perks. But sometimes, at the end of the night, it just leaves me wondering whether I'm good for anything else, y'know?"

I watch as his face softens, eyes filled with sympathy, the anger and frustration dissipating as I talk.

"But I shouldn't have agreed to this" – I gesture to the empty dishes on the table – "I think it's given you the wrong idea, and we're not doing it again."

He sighs, dejected.

"Fine."

I give him a small smile, silently thanking him for not pushing it. I begin clearing the plates, expecting him to leave. When I don't hear the shuffling of feet, I turn around slowly, unsure what his angle is.

"Please don't ask me to leave," Chandler all but whispers. I suck in a sharp breath, but don't say anything. I feel my pulse quicken as he walks towards me.

"I don't care if you never cook for me again. That's not what I came for," he says softly, and I'm suddenly very aware of how hot it is.

"What did you come for?" I ask innocently. It's not the way I usually handle things, but I want to hear him say it.

"You," he murmurs, sending chills down my spine. "I want you," he reinforces, and I know there's no turning back now. "I want you, I need you – I need you to make me forget her," he adds, but it feels like an afterthought, and I get the feeling she's already forgotten. As if on autopilot, my body snaps into action. I meet his eyes, dark with arousal, and the only comprehensive thought I have is about how much I want him too. With that, my decision is made.

"Okay."

I step towards him, closing the remaining gap between us, taking his face between my hands. My gaze falls to his soft lips, and I use every bit of strength I have to stop myself capturing them with my own. Instead, I begin kissing his neck, eliciting quiet moans that could belong to either one of us. I feel him hardening against my body.

In one swift motion, he scoops me up, and I gasp, too swept up in the gesture to protest as he carries me to the bedroom. He lowers me gently onto the bed, his eyes seeking out mine. I actively avoid them, despite wanting nothing more than to look into his blue orbs.

I undress him hurriedly. He tries to reciprocate, but I stop him.

"Why not?" He asks, disappointed, but I continue to remove my clothes. "The contract doesn't…" his voice fades as I slip off my underwear, rendering him speechless. He takes a moment, absorbing the sight of my naked body. "You're so" –

"Don't."

I lie down on my back, for some reason not knowing where to look as he hovers above me. He cups my face with his hand, willing me to meet his eyes.

"Mon, just… look at me."

"You know I can't do that."

"Can't you? We're not technically doing it right now, so…" I consider his words, and find myself unable and unwilling to argue. I shift my gaze to meet his, my heart rate thumping in my chest as I realise that, for the first time ever, I don't recognise the look my client is giving me. He leans in, and gently caresses my lips with his thumb, leaving me breathless.

Before I know it, he breaks our eye contact and begins leaving a trail of kisses down my body, surprising me with both his skill and selflessness as I watch his head disappear between my legs.

He's good. Too good.

Suddenly, he thrusts into me, evoking sounds that I'm not sure I've even made before. The rest is a blur; quick and rough and hot, leaving me quivering in sheer bliss.

"Shit, Monica…" Chandler begins, still panting. I give him a pleading look, willing him not to say anymore. We lay in silence for a few minutes.

"So… what now?" he finally asks.

I know that breaking my regular etiquette by asking him to leave would probably be a wise idea, but I'm too exhausted, emotionally as well as physically, to really consider the option, already feeling myself drift off.

"Now, we sleep," I tell him. The… sleeping arrangements usually depend on the wishes of my client, but between Chandler and I, I pointedly put extra space. He takes the hint and rolls over to the other side of the bed, his back to mine.

"Goodnight, Monica," he says softly.

"Goodnight, Chandler."

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was a lot more dialogue heavy than introspection – tell me how you found it! I nearly had Monica kiss Chandler on the lips in the last scene as I forgot about the contract – I think it's a little too early in the game for rules being broken ;) I felt like this story wouldn't work well without any description of smut, but I didn't want to make it too graphic, so I hope this was okay. I don't think it warrants an M rating, but let me know if you think I should bump it up. And yes, both this chapter and the last end on Monica and Chandler dramatically saying each other's names – I'm so predictable. By the way, I want to point out that I literally have no knowledge of correct prostitute protocol or anything like that, I'm literally just making it up as I go along. Hope you enjoyed! And please drop me a review. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm completely overwhelmed by the response my last chapter, I got even more reviews than for the first! That definitely helped in motivating me to get this chapter up a little sooner than I thought I'd be able to. I'm not sure this one quite lives up to it, but I gave it my best shot – although I have an overall idea of where this story is headed, I hit a bit of a block regarding what to do in this one. I hope it's okay, anyway. And we're back to Chandler, this time!**

 **Disclaimer: The most daunting part about writing fanfiction, I've decided, is trying to come up with new ways of saying this… I don't own them...**

* * *

I wake up, slightly hungover and confused at my unfamiliar surroundings, to the sound of clattering in the kitchen and an empty bed, which leaves me cold. It's only a second before I'm hit with the memory of last night, and I groan, silently reprimanding myself as I recall how badly I failed at handling 'casual'. Monica probably thinks I'm desperate and clingy, especially after the melodramatic eye contact and lip touching, acting like we're in some Shakespearean forbidden love tragedy or something.

I sigh. I know that I probably ruined my chances at turning this into any sort of ongoing thing, but I can't say that I regret it. In that moment, I reached out to her, and we connected.

It was… incredible. Like, I had no idea sex could be that good. Sure, with Kathy it had been nice, with Janice – I shiver as the memory triggers her signature cackle to invade my thoughts – it had been… the most tolerable part about our relationship, but Monica was something else. It had been mind-blowing, life-altering, like all the sex I'd ever had had just been preparing me for her.

For us.

I remind myself that for her, I'm just another client. She was just doing her job, and soon enough, all she'll have to show for our encounter is a nameless, faceless stack of dollar bills.

I haul myself out of bed, knowing that I have to face her sooner or later. I pull on yesterday's clothes, grimacing when I catch a glimpse of my dishevelled appearance in the mirror and attempt to tame it. Taking one last glance over the room, I decide to make the bed after noticing the covers still draped messily, figuring it to be the respectful thing to do.

Reluctantly, I make my way out of the bedroom, my breath catching when Monica comes into view, her back turned to me as she busies herself in the kitchen.

"Hey," I greet her softly, not failing to pick up on the way she jumps slightly at my sudden appearance.

"Good morning," she replies stoically, still not turning to face me.

I stay silent for a few moments, walking towards the kitchen, contemplating my next move. I clear my throat, wondering if that will get her attention.

No such luck.

She keeps on, scrubbing away at the dishes in the sink, probably the ones we used last night. I smile to myself, feeling proud how I had apparently distracted her enough to make her forget about the pending kitchen duties.

I decide to just go for it, take the plunge, and talk to her about what we did. I don't think anything could be worse than her ignoring me in this way.

"So, uh… last night was…"

"Don't go there, Chandler," Monica interrupts, her voice calm, but the way her body spins round in a flash to face me suggests she feels otherwise. Her eyes are piercing, sternly meeting mine. Perhaps she's angry, or disappointed even. I'm sure that with my substandard bedroom skills, and all the other lovers she's had to compare me to, there's no way the experience was mutual. I'm an idiot to think our night made an impression on her.

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" I point out. "Maybe I was going to say, 'last night was… only so-so'," I finish lamely.

"I don't care what you were going to say. I didn't ask for an evaluation, okay?" she snaps coldly, tearing her eyes from mine.

"Well then that's good, because this conversation is quickly knocking stars off of what _was_ a glowing review!" Only I could let slip how much I actually enjoyed our night together in an attempt to be insulting. I loathe myself.

She looks back at me hesitantly.

"I'm glad my services were… satisfactory," she admits quietly. It's such a goddamn understatement that I can't help but protest, determined to make her feel as good as she made me feel, even if not in the way I hoped.

"Mon, they were… they were more than that. The things you made me feel, I've – I've never…" I don't finish my thought, not wanting to freak her out. "What I'm trying to say is, is there any chance we could maybe do this again?" She goes to speak, but I indicate that I'm not done. "Don't freak out, don't freak out! I'm just saying, it was fun… and well, I don't have a lot of fun going on in my life right now," I say, which sounds self-deprecating and endearing in my head, but only when I say it out loud do I realise how truly pathetic and self-pitying I seem.

"Chandler, don't get me wrong, it was…" she blushes, biting her lip, "let's just say, you definitely don't give yourself enough credit." I could've done my celebratory dance right there and then, had it not been for the 'but' that I sensed was coming.

"But?" I prompt for her.

" _But_ , long term isn't really my thing. It's too time consuming, too complicated… not to mention the fact that it never ends well," she says, and I wonder if she speaks out of common sense, or from experience.

"I can pay more," I try, wincing at the implication but at a loss for other ways I can convince her.

"That doesn't change anything, Chandler. And hey… you don't need me, anyway, okay? I think you're gonna be just fine. I showed you it can be good with someone else, other than Kathy, didn't I?" she asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk as I try and restrain myself from telling her that she showed me it could be better. Instead, I just nod. "After all, that's the whole reason you came in the first place, right?" she continues, suddenly preoccupied with the dishes again.

"Right," I confirm, swallowing.

She nods, remaining quiet.

"Well, I – I should get going," I announce. "I guess I'll see you around," I finish, knowing that I probably won't.

She gives me a small smile.

"Bye, Chandler. And… thanks."

Determined to leave on a good note, I resist the urge to ask Monica to clarify what she meant by her last comment, and instead give her one last look before dragging my eyes away from hers and slipping out the apartment. The next thing I know is I'm looking at the closed door, my eyes glued to the number '20', wishing for some reason that I was still on the other side.

* * *

After leaving Monica's, I head to Central Perk, having judged it as being too soon – and too early in the day – to drown my sorrows in alcohol again already. This time, however, Kathy isn't the reason for my misery – I know that I should still be hung up over her, and I wonder what kind of fucked up person is more upset over a one night stand with a prostitute ending than a year long relationship with the love of their life.

I head up to the counter, deciding that even if alcohol isn't a good idea right now, caffeine just might be.

"Hey, dude!" comes a recognisable voice behind me. I turn around to give my friend a brief hug.

"Hey, Joe," I reply, expecting the grin I give him to feel forced, and I'm surprised when I realise how happy I am to see him. We've not been friends long, and I don't see him often, due to his busy schedule as an actor, but when we do get together, it's a blast.

"So, what's going on with you?" he asks. "You look down, man."

Joey isn't well known for his intellectual abilities, but he can be surprisingly in tune with other people's emotions.

Naturally, I only divulge part of the truth.

"Uhh, do you remember my girlfriend, Kathy?" I begin, proceeding when he nods, "well, she cheated on me and we broke up."

He looks taken aback.

"I'm so sorry, Chandler. And I'm sorry to Kathy too, for missing out on such a great guy."

I can't help but smile – Joey has always been my number one fan.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. Oh, what's new with you?"

"Well, I'm hungry and I'm debating whether to order the brownie or the muffin." I look at him, disbelievingly. "So you think both too?" he perks up.

"I mean in life, Joe. You know, relationships, careers… all that fun stuff," I finish maybe a little too bitterly.

"Oh! Well, I'm going to be starring in my own off-Broadway play, so I've just rented out an apartment in the Village."

The comment reminds me of my own living situation, and I plant my face in my palms as I remember how I'm technically still living with Kathy – her place, officially, so I probably won't be staying there much longer.

I'll be effectively homeless.

How that pressing issue slipped my mind is beyond me.

"Chandler, are you okay?" Joey shakes me from my thoughts.

"Shit, Joey, I'm sorry. I just realised, with Kathy and I breaking up… I don't have anywhere to live anymore."

His jaw drops, an expression of appal written all over his face.

"Dude, she cheats on you and now she's going to kick you out?! I mean, what kind of monster does _that_?!" he exclaims, and I guess I'm touched that he's so outraged on my behalf, despite how he completely misses the point.

"No, Joe, but I'm not exactly going to live with her anymore, am I? She betrayed me! We're no longer together!" I cry, pleading with him to absorb the severity of the situation.

I watch as his eyes widen in excitement, and prepare myself for what is no doubt going to be a million-dollar idea.

"You could live with me!" I frown, confused and a little alarmed by his proposal.

"I'm serious, Chandler. I could do with a roommate – I've got the space, and having someone to split the rent with would be a huge help. Off-Broadway isn't even _real_ Broadway, apparently, and it sure as hell doesn't pay the same!" he mutters, annoyed.

I take a moment to deliberate, but I know that as it stands, I don't have another option.

"Are you sure?" I eventually ask.

"Is that a yes?!"

I nod reluctantly.

"Oh, man, this is gonna be great!" he pauses for dramatic effect. "You know, we are gonna have a blast, you and I!" I chuckle nervously as he pats me on the back, before he mumbles something enthusiastically about showing me the place and I allow myself to be guided out of Central Perk, sans coffee order. Dammit.

* * *

I feel a strange sense of déjà vu creeping up on me as Joey leads me up the stairs of his apartment building, but I can't put my finger on why. Where have I seen this place before?

It's only when we come to a halt between two opposite apartments that it strikes me – the apartment to my right, Joey's place, reads number '19' on the door. And to my left…

Apartment 20.

Monica's place.

I groan inwardly. Nope. Nuh-uh. There's absolutely, no freaking way this is happening. What are the honest-to-God to chances?

Joey doesn't observe my change in demeanour, and instead invites me inside, opening two beers and cracking on the TV.

We spend the next hour or so watching 'Baywatch', but for perhaps the first time ever, my mind is too preoccupied elsewhere to fully enjoy it. Luckily for me, Joey is the complete opposite – I'm getting the impression that few things come between him and hot, sweaty ladies, and once he gets into the programme, he's too engrossed to interact with me, save for the occasional remark about aforementioned hot ladies that under any other circumstances I would most likely join in with. Instead, I remain quiet, battling with my inner conflict.

I have to see her.

It'll be awkward and probably get me even more into her bad books, considering how much she already doesn't want to see me, but I know that there's no way we can avoid each other forever. It feels deceptive to move in right across from her and not warn her about it.

As Joey prepares to depart for work, I make a quick phone call to Kathy, in which I tell her I'm moving in with Joey and will need to go over to hers in a bit to collect my stuff. She's thankfully understanding, and says she'll make herself scarce once I'm nearly there, leaving the place unlocked for me. What's surprising is how quickly Kathy leaves my mind after the conversation ends.

I tell Joey I'm sticking around to get acquainted with the apartment and he leaves me a key before heading out. A few moments later, I do the same myself, and find myself confronting the same door that I was staring after longingly only hours prior.

In an uncharacteristic display of courage, I knock on the door before I can change my mind. Anxiety bubbles within me as I wait for a reply.

Sure enough, the door bursts open and there she is, in sweats and rubber gloves, still stunning as ever.

"Cha-Chandler?" she whispers, stunned, and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, thankful that she hadn't instantly gone to the yelling place. "What are you doing here?"

I sigh, deciding to cut to the chase.

"Do you know Joey Tribbiani?" I ask, and she looks at me quizzically.

"Umm… Italian guy, late 20s, always got a girl round," – oh, that's just what I need – "lives over there?"

I nod, "that's the one."

"What about him?" she says, still looking bewildered at my presence.

"I'm moving in with him."

"What?!" she bursts out, and I shrug.

"I can't keep living with Kathy, can I? Joey offered me a place to stay, and so I took it."

She looks at me like I've just confessed to committing double homicide.

"Well, you can't move in across from me!" she declares.

I scoff.

"Excuse me, your highness?!" I snap, starting to wonder what her problem with me is, before deciding against opening that particular can of worms.

"Chandler, you – you just can't," she repeats, but sounding considerably less convinced herself this time at her lack of reasonable argument.

"Why? You scared you won't be able to resist me, living just a few feet away?"

She laughs humourlessly.

"Dream on, buddy."

"You're not denying it."

"Oh, I so am," she insists, frustrated.

"Prove it," I say, feeling bold as I meet her eyes.

"Are you challenging me?" she inquires, and I'm sure we're standing closer than we were a moment ago. "I hope for your sake that you're not, because I don't lose, Bing."

Oh, it's so on, Geller. I feel myself inadvertently being pulled towards her, before I suddenly jerk back, knowing that two can play at this game.

I try and think up a joke to break the tension, but nothing comes to mind.

"Looks like I'll catch you later then, neighbour," I say awkwardly. She looks seriously depressed at my reaffirmation, and I frown sadly, not enjoying seeing her so unhappy.

"Mon, I'm sorry… I have nowhere else to go," I admit softly, and it's not really a lie – I don't have any siblings, and my relationships with my parents are dysfunctional at best. Joey is one of my own only friends who I didn't meet through Kathy, and a far more economical option than staying in pricey Manhattan hotels for a while or getting my own apartment.

She nods in resignation, and I smile gratefully.

"Well, then… since you're here, do you want to… I don't know, come in for a drink, or something?"

I raise my eyebrows, surprised at her sudden change in tone.

"Oh, I can't – I mean, I want to, but I'm actually on my way over to Kathy's to go and collect my stuff."

"You're seeing Kathy?" she asks, nonplussed, and do I detect – dare I say it – jealousy?

"Well, she won't technically be there. Maybe I could come over tonight?" I instantly regret asking it, realising how it sounds, and I don't expect her to say yes.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea… I have a… well, y'know," she stumbles over her words, failing to meet my eyes.

Oh.

I feel a pang in my chest. I obviously knew she had other clients, and I don't know what it is about her saying it aloud that makes me feel like complete crap.

It's now completely awkward, and for once, I don't think there's anything I could say that would change that.

"Well, I guess I'll be off," I blurt out, and flee from the apartment, not taking a second to look back at the woman I've left behind me.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry if that ending with Chandler moving in across from Monica seems a little cliché (it _is_ cliché), but I needed a way to pull them closer geographically, in order to keep the story moving, but not _too_ quickly. I can't resist a good slow-burn. And honestly, once I made the decision to do that, I got out of my writing rut and it was like the rest of this chapter (and probably more or less the rest of the story) fell into place, so I can't apologise for it.**

 **If you don't buy the fact that Chandler didn't recognise it was Monica's apartment block straight way, it's because he was so enamoured with her the previous night (and lets be real, a little drunk – only 'the perfect amount', obviously) that he wasn't really concentrating on his environment. There wasn't so much Mondler in this one, but I hope you enjoyed Joey's entrance! I'm thinking about bringing in Rachel, too, so let me know what you think about that – probably no Phoebe and Ross in this story, though.**

 **As always, please keep the feedback coming! I'm trying my very best to update regularly, but with my exams starting in three weeks time, I have a sinful amount of work and revision to do, so please bare that in mind! But don't worry, I should be updating at least once a week, and I'm not the kind of person who could leave a story unfinished even if I wanted to – it would bother me too much. So yeah, reviews put a huge smile on my face – a huge thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed so far!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So… remember me? Yeah, I'm still kicking around. Clearly, I haven't been updating every week as I'd hoped, but I felt way too guilty doing anything other than studying. Thanks to everyone who wished me luck – my exams finished on Friday, so I'm back now, if you'll have me! Please drop me a review to let me know whether you're still interested in this story.**

 **A little recap since it's been so long: Kathy cheated on Chandler, and Monica met him drowning his sorrows in a bar. She offered to sleep with him for money, and ended up cooking for him as well. The next morning, Monica refused to engage in an ongoing arrangement with Chandler, so he left – however! Chandler ran into his friend Joey in Central Perk, whom announced he was moving to Greenwich Village to star in an off-Broadway play, and asked Chandler if he wanted to move in with him since he couldn't live with Kathy any more. Chandler and went to visit the place which – shock! – turned out to be opposite Monica's apartment. Chandler went to let Monica know, they had a brief argument about it, but Monica relented when Chandler told her he had nowhere else to go. He then ran off when Monica broke the news that she had another client visiting her that night. And we're now back to Monica's POV!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Friends.**

* * *

I lay my phone down on the table, feeling a smile spread over my face.

A cancellation.

I was supposed to have a client round tonight – some anonymous guy who 'found' my number and contacted me out of the blue – but he just phoned up to say it won't be necessary. Usually, cancellations piss me off, especially when they come late – they often mean a night of no work, and so no payment – but tonight, I feel strangely glad; besides, I know I have enough money to take the night off every now and then if I so wish.

I inadvertently begin grinning from ear to ear as I picture the evening ahead of me, all to myself – even the thought of Chandler moving in across the hall can't bring me down. In all honesty, he had been a special case. Despite what I told him, I don't usually pick up guys from bars and offer them sex for money. Most of my work nowadays comes from men who contact me intentionally. It's a bit of a backstreet business.

Something about Chandler had just compelled me to revert to my rookie ways.

I decide to clean up a bit around the apartment so I can truly relax and enjoy myself for the rest of the night. As I take the trash out, the man occupying my thoughts reappears, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"I… I-Monica…" he stutters, and I fight the urge to sigh, not wanting his clearly opposite mood to ruin my good one.

"Look, Chandler," I start, cutting straight to the point. "You and I are going to be living across from other, correct?"

It's pretty cute how taken aback he is by my frankness, and I berate myself for the inappropriateness of my thoughts as I await his confirmation.

"You've heard that too? I thought that was just a rumour," he jokes, and I smile in relief.

"I have a pretty reliable source," I respond, and he simply grins, his eyes sparkling, instead of choosing to reply. A moment later, I speak up again.

"What I'm saying is…" I continue, fighting off a blush as his smile remains, "you and I are going to be neighbours. All this… you know, awkwardness, between us – it isn't healthy," he nods in agreement, "and it's pointless. So, we slept together once, so what?!" I exclaim, perhaps a bit too candidly, and he looks bewildered once more. I make a mental note not to bring up the sex thing again.

"It's no big deal," I shrug, clamouring my brain to think of something that will bring back the light-hearted, funny Chandler from just seconds before. "I just… I'd really like us to be friends. For real. None of that funny business."

"Really?" he checks, and I can't think why anyone wouldn't want to be his friend.

"Yes!" I reassure him softly, and his smile is back. "Chandler, you already know so much about me. We've already had 'that' conversation – you know, about my profession – I mean, obviously, considering we…" _don't mention the sex thing, don't mention the sex thing –_ "you know – you don't know how tough that conversation can be!" I cry, and he gives me an understanding smile. "Anyway, you already accept me for who I am, and what I do, why would I wanna throw that away?"

"And here I was thinking it was because you like my sarcasm," he says, pretending to be offended.

"I mean, of course _that's_ the reason," I respond with a little sarcasm of my own. I actually kind of love his sarcasm.

We share small grins, and I feel like all the uncomfortableness and tension from before has been lost.

"So, what do you say?" I ask.

"Monica Geller, I would love to be your friend," he answers sincerely, meeting my eyes. I swallow down the surge of emotion I suddenly feel at his admission.

"So, uh… didn't you have a client tonight?" he treads carefully, but the nervousness from earlier is gone.

"Oh, I – I did, but he cancelled on me," I state apathetically.

"Oh, I'm sorry. He's crazy."

I choose not to overanalyse Chandler's response.

"It's fine. Anyway, I'd rather be here with… my friend," I giggle, giving him a light punch on the shoulder, knowing I need to be more careful if I want to prevent him from getting the wrong idea again.

"And, speaking of friendship," I proceed without gauging his reaction, "how about you and I grab a bite to eat or something?" That's what friends do, right? Oh God, I hope he doesn't think I'm asking him out.

"Sure, I'm starving," he says casually. _See, he knows it's not a date! He doesn't even like you like that, he never did – he just wanted to forget his ex._

"Let's get going then, buddy," I say, and he laughs out loud, but chooses not to comment.

We get a taxi to a little burger joint, me having consciously wanted to go somewhere as non-classy as possible, and pay separately for our orders before settling down in a booth.

"So, how do you know Joey?" I ask lightly.

"Uh, it's a funny story, actually," he smirks, and I gesture for him to elaborate.

"We met in the Doctor's waiting room a couple of months ago. He, uh… he approached me and asked if I would be his identical twin in a twin study."

I nearly spit out my drink.

"What? How…?" I say eloquently, a little lost for words.

"Yeah, that's Joey for you. The study was for two thousand dollars and he really needed the money. Working actor and all that."

"So, what did you say?" I manage in between attempts to supress my laughter.

"I said, 'sure'," he says coolly, as if it was the perfectly natural thing to do. I raise my eyebrows as if to say, 'and?'

"And, it didn't work, obviously," I laugh, not sure what I had been expecting him to say. "Joey was pretty crushed – thought he had this genius masterplan going on. We got to talking, and I realised just how broke he was, so I offered loan him some money. We've been friends ever since – he often comes to see me in Central Perk, which is how he found out about his apartment I guess."

"You just offered to lend money to a total stranger? A stranger who thought hiring a random guy to be his identical twin in a medical experiment would actually fool anyone?" I interrogate him, suspicious.

Chandler shrugs, making me scoff.

"How did you even know he would pay the money back?"

"Well… he hasn't, really, not yet."

My jaw drops, appalled at what I'm hearing.

"Chandler! And you call this guy a friend?!"

"I mean, he would argue that he's paid his debts in other ways."

I suddenly feel the heat rise in my cheeks at the implication, not quite sure how to respond to that.

"Oh, get your mind out the gutter," he commands after a few seconds in which his alarmed expression mirrors mine.

"Not like _that!_ Mon, I had a girlfriend! Although you'd be in no position to judge." Said by anyone else under different circumstances, it might have sounded spiteful, but he delivers it with a wink and I know he's just teasing.

"He kindly offered me some 'expert advice to pick up women' to tide me over until he actually pays me back," he says, "I told him that I was seeing Kathy, but he didn't appear to understand the significance."

"Well, now's your chance to put it to the test," I suggest, a little flirtatiously, knowing that I'm approaching dangerous territory but unable to stop myself. I'm annoyed when our burgers arrive, interrupting our conversation.

The waitress is a pretty young woman who practically slams my food on the table, before carefully laying Chandler's before him, flashing him a smile in the process. I roll my eyes.

"Enjoy your meal, sir," she says seductively, slowly slipping him a napkin, before flipping her long blonde hair and strutting away, and then making sure to twirl around and face him one last time.

Chandler looks flustered – I'm surprised to realise that he probably hadn't been overexaggerating when he spoke of the lack of female attention he attracts – and meets my annoyed eyes, on the brink of laughter himself.

"Give me that," I snap, snatching the napkin away from him and unfolding it to reveal a phone number.

"Do you think I should go for it?" he quips, and I think he's joking before I realise there's no good reason why he would be. She's young, pretty, clearly interested – why on earth wouldn't he be up for it?

"Who the hell does she think she is?" I fire back, ignoring his prior question. "We could get her fired for that! It's unprofessional."

"Woah, Monica, chill out – nobody's getting fired," he retorts, confused at my upset at the situation almost as much as I am.

"Why not? As far as she knows, you and I could be on a date!"

"But we're not!" Chandler declares, exasperated, "so what's the problem?"

"I'm sorry," I say quietly, humiliated about my outburst. "You should go out with her."

"I'm not gonna do that," he says, and I capture his soft gaze with mine. "You're right, we could've been on a date, or hell, we could've been married, but she didn't care… She disrespected you and… I don't like people who disrespect my friends," he finishes, looking away from me, a little embarrassed.

"Thanks, Chandler," I say gently, and we eat our burgers in a comfortable silence.

Ten minutes later, we begin to make a move to leave, and we're hit by the warmth of the late May evening in New York as we exit the diner.

"Can we save a few bucks and walk back?" Chandler requests, and I nod.

It's a half hour walk, and we spend it talking about everything and nothing, keeping the conversation light-hearted, while pointedly ensuring enough distance is between us.

Once we reach our apartments, it's gone ten pm, and my heart speeds up as I remember what we were doing exactly twenty-four hours before now. I glance over at Chandler, meeting his eyes, his pupils dilated, and wonder if he's having the same thoughts as me.

"Do you want to come in?" I ask recklessly, caught up in a breathless trance. His eyes widen in shock, my words contrary to our earlier conversation that day, but he's more than eager to comply.

I unlock the door, my hands shaking, hoping that he won't notice. Once we're inside, I freeze, facing away from him, not having thought this far ahead.

"Monica?" he prompts, and I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing he can't stay and yet so badly not wanting him to leave.

I hear footsteps shuffling behind me.

"Mon, are you okay?"

Suddenly his hand is touching the small of my back, in what I'm sure is intended as a gesture of platonic comfort, but instead it sets me on fire. I spin round to face him, but it's all too fast, and I find the proximity between us to be too close and yet not close enough. It's agonising.

He's not the stunned, flustered mess I imagined he'd be; instead, he's calm and collected, totally in control of the situation, as if our tight vicinity has awoken something within him. His hands have now made their way to my waist, and he's looking at me with a kind of intensity unparalleled by that of any other lover.

"Chandler…" I whisper, "we can't."

He backs away from me, and I don't know whether to be relieved, or a little disappointed that he didn't even try to convince me otherwise. When it becomes apparent that he hasn't given up, my breath catches in my throat, knowing that there's no way I'll have the strength to put an end to this now.

"Maybe we can," he states simply, and he takes the lack of immediate protest on my behalf as a signal to keep talking.

"Look, Mon, it's obvious that there's an… attraction between us," he begins. It would be ridiculous at this point to even try to disagree.

"And it's like you said earlier, you know, it's just sex. No feelings. It's no big deal," he continues confidently, until his voice wavers at the end. "The way I see it, it's a win-win situation. I get to have sex with a beautiful woman who makes my ex look like chopped liver, and you get a regular paying customer who actually respects you and values you as a friend. Honestly, I think this kind of arrangement could be big all over America," he concludes jokingly, and I have to commend his logic. He does make the whole thing sound very… appealing.

"So, uh, how would this work?" I ask, curious.

"Well, we wouldn't have to be exclusive, obviously," he says with an awkward chuckle. "I mean, you can still have other clients…"

"I probably wouldn't need to," I cut in truthfully, "if you were paying the kind of amounts you did last night. And then that eliminates the whole hygiene concern, too. You could… still see other people, so long as you… keep me informed."

He nods seriously, and I swallow, the reality of what we're considering here sinking in.

"Are we really gonna do this?" he asks for reaffirmation, and I feel my body being pulled towards his.

"I think we really are," I say with a small smile, which he then mirrors. My eyes drop to his lips, God, only a few more seconds until I'll be able to…

No.

That would be too risky.

I clear my throat, needing to remain professional for a bit longer.

"The same terms will have to apply," I assert, and I think I see a flash of disappointment in his eyes. "I'll write up the full long-term contract tomorrow, but for tonight, you can just sign one of the regular ones… that's, if you want to do this tonight," I check, hoping he's in the same place I am.

"Tonight would… be good," he says, his voice hushed in anticipation.

I lead him into the office once again, handing him a contract, before asking him to excuse me while I freshen up.

I apply some fragrance, touch up on my makeup, brush my teeth even though there won't be any kissing. I carefully select my favourite lingerie – red lace – and slip on a silk robe before meeting Chandler outside my bedroom. I push the papers he's returned to me to one side, before leading him in with me.

He stops me just short of the bed, placing a hand on my shoulder, and I turn around to face him. His eyes never leaving mine, he gently pulls the sleeve off my shoulder before touching the skin underneath, and the contact burns my flesh. He reaches down to the tie on my robe, making it go loose, letting it fall to the floor.

His eyes drop to my body, drinking in the view, and I decide to turn the attention onto him before it gets too much.

I unbutton his shirt rapidly, pushing it off his shoulders, and begin kissing my way down his body. I remove his pants, before taking him in my mouth, wanting to return the favour from the other night, and soon enjoying the response it elicits in him. Just when I think he's about to climax, he motions for me to stop, and I comply, confused.

"What's wrong?" I ask anxiously, suddenly self-conscious about my abilities. "Don't you like that?"

"Oh, trust me, I do," he reassures me, still panting slightly, "I just… it's wasted if it doesn't involve you."

I don't get the chance to reply as suddenly he's kissing my neck, his soft lips perfectly massaging the sweet spot below my ear, making me hum contentedly.

He lays me down on my back, my head hitting the soft pillows with a slight thump. His fingers go to the clasp of my bra, and he peels the garment off my skin, before his lips latch on to my nipple.

He worships every inch of my skin with his mouth as I feel heat rising within me, not sure how much longer I can take it, before he finally enters me and I feel myself come undone.

We fall asleep alone.

The next morning, we wake up together, our bodies intertwined.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope that was okay! It's been so long so I feel like I'm still a bit rusty. Again, the clichés are strong with this one. Please, please, please leave me a review letting me know what you think! Thank you everyone for your continued support so far. There's still quite a way to go with this one, but I have a pretty strong sense of where each chapter is headed, and updates should be a lot more regular now I'm completely exam free, plus hopefully teachers should be going easy on us for the last half term of the year. I'm hoping to get it done by summer holidays so I can work on something new, but that might be a little ambitious. I have a new idea for a story, but I'm not sure about it yet, and I definitely don't want to be handling two stories at once! Follow my tumblr if you want, it's 'ninetiesmondler' (don't ask me why I have 'nineties' in everything) and I post absolutely no original content! Anyway, sorry for the ramble, thank you for reading as always! And sending my love to my fellow Brits following this particularly difficult week, especially if any of you are from Manchester.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you all for the continued support! Back to Chandler. A tiny trigger warning for a _mention_ of suicide at the end of the chapter – I don't know if it's enough to warrant a trigger warning but better be safe than sorry. I really feel like I poured everything into this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Friends or Mondler.**

* * *

The streaming sunlight stirs me from my sleep to the feeling of a small, warm body wrapped in my arms, and all recollection of the previous night comes crashing back.

It startles me when I realise that I'm here, in Monica's bed, practically _cuddling_ her, and I don't panic. The usual burning instinct to run away is completely and utterly absent. Instead, I feel content; at peace for the first time in longer than I'd care to admit. I wonder whether she's really awake, too, having similar thoughts.

Who am I kidding? She'd freak out if she saw us like this.

I have absolutely no desire to move – not now, maybe not ever – but I fear that Monica will interpret my current position as me seeking emotional intimacy, rather than just physical comfort, which I'm absolutely sure is what this is, and I know that if she were to realise how entangled our limbs have become, she'll be sure to sever our arrangement. And so I carefully free myself from her and roll over to my side of the bed, ignoring an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

We both lay still for a number of minutes, or maybe hours, who knows? Time seems to stretch on forever as I find myself wishing I was holding her instead and thinking about how I hope these awkward, silent mornings can become something different.

"Monica?" comes a voice from outside the bedroom. Is that… _Joey?_ Why is he here, especially at this time in the morning? And doesn't this woman lock her door?!

 _She was occupied otherwise,_ I think to myself, remembering how what was supposed to be a quick stop by at Monica's had turned into… well, this.

"Fuck," I hear Monica mutter immediately, as if she had been awake the entire time.

She hastily exits the room, hopefully having grabbed a robe, without acknowledging me as my back faces away from her.

I stupidly follow her lead, putting yesterday's clothes back on and making my way out the door, my confusion and curiosity overriding any awareness of the implications and consequences.

They're in the middle of some food-orientated discourse when Joey's eyes widen at my entrance.

Shit.

Monica is absolutely fuming, and I can't exactly blame her. This would make Joey go getting all sorts of ideas, and… well, he'd be right.

"Chandler? What are you doing here?"

I have no idea what to say. To my surprise, neither does Monica, apparently, and our silence is incriminating.

"Oh my God! You? And, and you?!" he says, point at us both.

"No! I mean… we're not together, it's just, just casual," I stammer, not very casually, not sure of how much Joey knows about Monica's occupation. Her expression looks grateful, though, so I figure he doesn't know much.

"Oh, nice!" Joey says excitably, giving me two thumbs up and a wink as Monica continues to face me.

"Anyway, I didn't know you two were friends," I say, swiftly trying to change the topic.

"Oh, I would hardly call us friends," Monica says quickly. "When Joey moved in a few weeks ago, I was in the middle of cooking and I said he could have some, y'know, as a little "welcome to the neighbourhood" gift. Or "welcome to the apartment building" I guess – whatever…" she says, and I smile as she goes off point.

"Anyway, he's kind of been obsessed ever since, so every now and then, he comes in and invades my dinner table – and my fridge."

"Dude, have you tried her food?" Joey asks as if possessed by a sense of other-worldly wonder and awe. "It is seriously good!"

I briefly catch Monica's eyes, the both of us undoubtedly reminded of the disastrous dinner we shared the other night.

"Uh, nope," I reply, and he looks flabbergasted.

"Well, you have _got_ to try it!" he declares, suddenly grabbing a loaf of bread and a kitchen knife, as if expecting Monica to make a meal out of them.

"Okay, okay! I'll do you guys Breakfast," Monica announces, slightly alarmed, disarming Joey.

I revel in the delight that I get to taste her food again, and that she's going back on her earlier promise of not cooking for me anymore. Sure, it was a decision taken spontaneously to placate a weapon wielding Joey, but it's something.

I copy Joey as he sits down at the table, while Monica begins preparing our breakfast.

"So, Joey, why are you up this early, anyway? You know, I don't think I've ever heard a sound of life coming from your side of the hall this early in the morning. Or ever, in the morning, period," Monica quips, and I chuckle, getting the impression that being around these two a lot is going to be fun.

"Well, you know that show thing I'm in?" Joey begins, earning nods from Monica and I, "yeah, well that starts tonight, apparently," he finishes in an aggravated tone.

"Really?" I ask, surprised. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah, yeah," he dismisses with the wave of a hand. "it's great and all, but neither of my parents are coming to see me, or any of my sisters."

Chandler looks to Monica with raised eyebrows, and we give it a moment before something clicks in Joey's mind.

"Hey, you guys could come, free of charge!"

"Oh, uh, are you sure you can do that?" I ask, trying to find a way out of going on another date-like outing with Monica. "Because I – I really can't afford Broadway tickets."

"Sure I can, dude! I'm the _star_ , I have the _power,_ " he proclaims, his eyes popping at the thought of his new status. "And besides, it's off-Broadway, it's not real Broadway!"

I meet Monica's eyes and shrug, trying to communicate that I'm down if she is. It's not like I have anything else going on. It's free, and hey, it might actually be good. I'm not immune to the charm of live theatre.

"Sure, Joey, why not?" she concedes, presenting us with bagels, pancakes, and waffles, and Joey gets stuck in immediately.

"Great!" he exclaims with a mouth full of food. He devours it in a flash and I don't exactly blame him – who'd have thought simple breakfast staples could taste this amazing?

"I gotta split," Joey announces, getting up from his seat. "Be at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, seven thirty tonight?"

"Uh-uh," I say, not having expected him to go so soon, leaving me alone with Monica, as the latter quietly agrees with me.

"See ya," he says, still chewing on something as he departs.

"Mon, I" –

"Chandler, stop," Monica cuts in, before I can apologise for stupidly revealing our activities to Joey. "I'm, um, sorry he was here… I really didn't think he would just walk in like that," she says, seemingly ashamed.

"It's okay, really, I shouldn't have humiliated you like that… I mean, I'm okay with him knowing about, well, you know, but I shouldn't have presumed…"

"Chandler, it's fine," Monica chuckles, "Joey isn't exactly shy when it comes to sex – I think he can handle it."

I laugh a little at that.

"So, I guess I better get started on that contract, huh?" Monica says, clearing away the plates. It takes me a moment to register what she's talking about, but when I do I nod eagerly.

"Good idea. And I should probably be… at work, or something."

"Really?" Monica frowns.

"Yeah," I confirm, checking my watch, "a half hour ago, actually."

"Well, move it then, Bing," she grins, shoving my shoulder.

"Easy enough for you to say; you have the best job in the world. In theory, anyway," I add. She rolls her eyes but can't contain her smile.

"You know, with the way it's headed, it might be time for a career change," she giggles, and I know she's kidding. It's weird. We're here, openly joking about her occupation and our arrangement and it feels totally normal, almost domestic, even.

"And yet you're currently writing out the terms for our arrangement anyway," I say with a smirk.

"Well, you don't know, maybe the small print is gonna enlist you as my servant and declare all your earnings and possessions as mine. Maybe I'll never have to work another day in my life."

"Let me know how that works out for you when I get fired for being late to work, and we're both unemployed."

She laughs and I almost lean in to kiss her goodbye before I come to my senses.

"I'll meet you back here at seven and we can head down together?" I ask.

"Okay!" she replies, high-fiving my hand in agreement.

"Bye," I say, looking back at her as I walk out of the door, the smile not leaving my face once during my commute to work.

* * *

The evening couldn't come soon enough. The idea of getting to see Monica this evening had made work a thousand times more bearable.

I finally get back to my apartment at six pm, and make an effort to look good when getting ready, knowing that tonight could commence the official start of our arrangement. Shit. What the hell are you supposed to wear to an off-Broadway show? I realise I have no idea if there's some sort of implicit dress code or expected attire, so I settle for an open collar shirt and black trousers that I decide can pass as both smart and casual.

I cross over to Monica's apartment at five to seven, wanting to be prompt, and I feel anxious knocking on her door and awaiting her response.

I don't have to wait for long – I'm suddenly face to face with her, and she's absolutely breath-taking. Her dark, wavy locks fall down her back softly, perfectly framing her face. She's wearing a short, floral dress, and though it's not particularly formal, she's so gorgeous in it that I can't help but feel underdressed. I would feel embarrassed for being so obvious with my staring, if it weren't for the fact that I think she's staring at me too. Her eyes are fixated on mine, and I lose myself in them, forgetting everything. I drop my gaze down to her lips, a soft summer pink shade, and think how they have never looked more kissable.

She opens her mouth to speak, and I'm expecting awkward apologies or excuses, or maybe even a joke to break the mood, but instead, she simply tells me that the contract is ready.

I follow her through to the office and read through the document, before signing it confidently and enclosing a cheque. I can't believe that we're actually doing this.

I offer up the paperwork, unable to tear my eyes from her lust-filled stare, feeling myself getting more and more worked up at the sight of her. She takes it off me, her hand purposefully touching mine before letting the now disregarded agreements hit the ground. She begins stroking my skin and I swear she is trying to torture me.

"You know, we still have some time," she says sensually, knowing exactly what she's doing, and I reach breaking point. I pin her to the wall, the both of us breathing heavily, and I begin sucking on her neck fervently, Monica gasping at the sensation.

My hands massage her breasts through her dress, before working their way down her body and eventually reaching under her skirt. I gently caress her inner thighs and lower stomach before teasing the hem of her lace underwear and slipping my fingers inside, her increasingly loud moans encouraging me to go further and further, and I comply, unable to get enough of her panting my name.

She cries out as I bring her over the edge, and I feel an enormous sense of pride as it sinks in that I'm the one who makes her feel that way. It's my touch, my kiss that induces such a perfect response. She chose _me_.

And then, I remember that we're not exclusive, that she's not mine and I'm not hers, and it's like someone dumping a bucket of ice-cold water on my head. I retreat away from her as she recovers, glowing from her orgasm.

It's the first time I admit to myself that I might, probably, most definitely want something more than just sex with this woman, and I hate myself for being so infatuated with someone I barely know, someone I only met a few days ago, someone completely and utterly unavailable.

Our arrangement has only just begun, and already I know that it's not sustainable. I sigh as I watch her straighten her dress and fix her hair. I make a mental to distance myself from her if I don't want to get hurt again. And, for some reason, I know that this would sting even more than the last time – even the thought of losing Monica is a pain more intense than actually losing Kathy ever was.

I entertain the idea of breaking it off before things become too messy, trying to find a real relationship with somebody more attainable, but then she smiles at me, clearly satiated, and _God,_ what I wouldn't do for her. I'll take her in any way, shape or form that she'll have me.

And that's just sex. Sex, which doesn't even feel like a lot anymore, compared to what could be. But it's so, so much better than nothing.

She must sense a shift in my demeanour, because her face falls to a frown, her eyes shining with confusion.

"Chandler? What… what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, smiling a smile so big that there's no way it could come across as sincere. She gives me an unsure look but doesn't question me further, and I feel so ashamed for putting her in this position.

The walk to theatre passes without a single word being spoken between us – it would have been awkward had it not been over in a matter of seconds. We take our seats and it becomes clear to me that she's not going to make the first move to start up a conversation, and I feel really, really bad that I've suddenly gone cold on this woman for as far as she knows, no reason. She might even be thinking it was something she did, thinking that I'm no longer attracted to her and want out. Which, obviously, couldn't be further from the truth, and I can't stand the idea of Monica blaming herself. I decide to swallow my feelings and act like nothing's changed.

"So, uh, have you seen Joey act in anything before?" It's a weak opener, but her face lights up as she realises that I'm not completely shutting her out.

"No, I – we're not really friends," she replies – she's not a soap opera fan, I'm guessing.

"I have," I declare with sarcastic pride, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? In what? Did he repay your loans with a little bedroom roleplay?" she smirks teasingly. I laugh, simultaneously shocked, embarrassed and kind of impressed.

"Not quite – I think that's more your area," I venture, unable to think of a witty comeback, and she scoffs. "He was in a soap, 'Days of Our Lives', a few years ago, playing a neurosurgeon called Doctor Drake Ramoray. You know, I heard that Joey was the reasoning behind the concept of life imitating art."

Monica snickers in response.

"So, am I in for a treat?" she asks coyly.

"If by 'treat' you mean ice cream at intermission and three hours with the Chan-Chan Man, then I would have to say yes."

I see her flash me a quick smile as the lights begin to dim in the auditorium, signalling that the play is about to begin.

* * *

About an hour later, the lights come back up, commencing the break between Acts.

"Well, that was… something," Monica says, as if like me, she isn't really sure what to make of the play – a modern-day 'Romeo and Juliet' remake subtly titled 'Ronan and Julianne', starring Joey as the titular male lead. It's safe to say that it's not going to Broadway, I think, as Monica continues her critique of the plays first Act. "Did you see the way he was looking at his computer screen? That's true love, that is. Personally, I think that a love declaration is _way_ more romantic when communicated via email."

"Thanks for the tip," I joke before I can stop myself. And I really do mean it as a joke – I would never choose that method to tell her how I feel, but I know how it sounds and oh, shit, she looks mortified.

"I mean – I don't mean that _I'll_ – you know, I don't have feelings – "

"Chandler, it's okay, I know what you meant," she says with a reserved smile, "don't worry about it. I'm gonna hit the restroom, and when I come back, you better have that ice cream you promised me." The mischievous glint in her eye is back.

A few minutes later, we both return to our seats, me with two ice creams, one of which I hand to her as she thanks me and we tuck in.

"So any predictions for the rest of the show?" Monica enquires enthusiastically.

I shrug.

"I mean, they both have to die, right?"

"Sure, but I think the question is more how rather than if."

"Maybe Ronan kills himself when it's been a whole day and Julianne _still_ hasn't replied to his email?" I say mockingly. "But it turns out it was just this huge misunderstanding because Julianne was – get this – busy doing _something else_ instead of emailing Ronan, and so when she finds out what he's done, she reads his last message one last time before topping herself, and dies cradling her laptop. Or, maybe he releases their sex tape in a fit of rage when she takes too long to email back, and Julianne commits suicide, obviously seeing no other way out, and dies knowing that her family were right about Ronan all along."

Monica bursts out laughing, and I soon join in, unable to believe that we're actually discussing this.

"Man, this play sucks," she says.

"Yeah," I say quietly, enamoured with the sight of her looking so happy, so free.

"I'm glad I got to see it with you, though," she confesses, looking up at me through long, dark lashes, almost shyly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. It's at that point when I realise that she's still got a smear of ice cream across it, and my hand involuntary moves forward to wipe it away.

"You've got a little something…" I whisper, her eyes widening as I clean the ice cream off, my thumb lingering a little too long and our eyes locked. I can feel her breath quicken, the warm air tickling my skin.

The lights go down and I draw back, looking away, but the moment isn't gone. The rest of the play has its moments, and at one point, during a particularly emotional monologue, I look over at Monica, only to find her gazing at me right back. She nudges my hand, accidentally or otherwise, and I take it in my own, interlocking our fingers together, keeping my eyes on hers. There's something about the romantic atmosphere and the darkness of the theatre that makes this all okay, and I cherish it, knowing that the moment the lights come up, it's all over.

* * *

 **A/N: Gotta love the messy ice cream trope! I don't know what it's like in New York, but in London, ice cream is like the staple interval snack at West End shows, so when I had them go to the theatre I just couldn't help myself. Also, I don't know if 'interval' or 'intermission' would be the correct usage here. And I don't know whether they even have them in straight plays, but whatever.**

 **Sorry this wasn't up as soon as I hoped. I hope the scene where Chandler essentially admitted his feelings for Monica to himself didn't feel too soon, but I don't know, I feel like it's been pretty damn obvious since chapter one and I don't want this story to drag on _too_ much. I don't think he's fully there yet, but I just don't feel like it's realistic for him to be so completely in denial about wanting more than a physical relationship with Monica when it's so blatant. I know there's way more fics with Chandler pining after Monica than vice versa (and I would love love love to see more Monica pining fics) but it just wouldn't work if it were the other way round for this particular story. **

**Anyway, please let me know your thoughts (is their relationship progressing too quickly? Am I overplaying the romantic/sexual tension scenes and need a better balance?) and thank you all for reading and reviewing so far! And next chapter looks set to be Rachel's first appearance. Also, my tumblr is now chandlersmonica. :) Thank you**!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So, it's been ages since I wrote this. Sorry for leaving it hanging for literally two years! I'm not really into this story anymore, but I kind of just wanted to finish it off for anyone who was hoping for a conclusion to this fic. Apologies for any plot holes or spelling/grammar mistakes! To everyone who asked, I'm doing good, thank you! :) I hope you enjoy. Any feedback is appreciated!**

* * *

After the show ends, the atmosphere is heated between Chandler and I. I know that I shouldn't indulge him, but he's just so adorable and charming that it's impossible not to flirt back. We exit the auditorium and wait for Joey in the foyer, not fully aware of the expected protocol when the lead in the off-Broadway show is your neighbour slash roommate of the man with whom you share a sexual arrangement with based on the exchange of money.

"Well, what did you think?" Chandler asks me teasingly.

"That was quite possibly the most bizarre play I've ever seen in my life. If you can even call it that," I say, coming up short on words to describe whatever the hell it was that we just watched.

"It was a cultural experience," Chandler suggests. We both chuckle softly as I clutch my purse nervously. I try to retort back with some witty remark, but the way Chandler is looking at me leaves me speechless. The moment feels like it goes on for hours with neither one of us speaking up. I wonder what's taking Joey so long.

"Aww, you guys didn't have to wait for me!" says the man in question, finally approaching us with bouquets of flowers in tow from God know's who since we were his only guests in the audience. I feel a pang of regret for not bringing a gift of my own for my friend's opening night.

"Joey, where did you get these from?" I ask in disbelief. Joey frowns indignantly.

"They're gifts from the cast and crew. Some people know how to _appreciate_ quality thespians such as myself," he scoffs at us.

"I'm sorry we didn't get you anything, Joe," Chandler says guiltily. Joey pouts his lips, his eyes widening like a puppy.

"Are you really sorry?"

"Of course!" I declare with as much conviction as I can muster.

"Great, then you can be my plus ones to the after party and make it up to me." He smiles broadly and slaps Chandler on the back, already back to his energetic self. Chandler lights up, no doubt thinking about the idea of the two of us dancing the night away, together.

"I shouldn't…" I stutter out, knowing fully well that I don't have anywhere to be or any kind of good excuse for why I shouldn't do this for Joey, who's already tutting and shaking his head.

"You know, I'm starting to think you don't actually feel so bad," he says disapprovingly. I look to Chandler for back up, and I feel like I see a flash of hurt on his face at my reluctance to join.

"Come on, Mon. It'll be fun," he says with a small smile.

"Fine. But Joey, for the twelfth time, I am not doing the Macarena with you."

* * *

The party is buzzing. Joey is quickly ushered onto the dance floor by a bunch of his cast mates, but Chandler and I hang back at the bar, not quite feeling in the party mood yet.

"You know, you can go home if you're not having fun," Chandler begins, interrupting a few minutes of silence, with both a slight, genuine smile on his lips and a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, it's just… I don't know how to act around you. There's not a lot of precedent for our kind of situation, you know. This is all so complicated," I laugh humourlessly.

"It doesn't have to be…" Chandler says, a murmur that I can still somehow hear above all the noise of the party as he edges closer and closer towards me.

"Chandler," I breathe shakily, "we've been over this. You literally just signed a contract a few hours ago."

"I know. So what? I feel like that's not what either of us truly wants here. Tell me I'm wrong." His stare is challenging and my breath catches in my throat. I feel suffocated, my mind scrambling for ways to change the conversation.

"Can I get two shots of vodka?" I snap harshly at the bartender. He delivers, and I quickly feel bad, deciding tip generously as an apology, frustrated with nobody but myself for my inability to do what Chandler asks. I down both shots immediately in hope that if Chandler really isn't going to let this go, I'll at least have more courage to face up to this discussion that now feels like an inevitable consequence of tonight.

Chandler is offended.

"So I push you to drink now, huh?"

"What do you want me to say?" I cry, beckoning the bartender over again and placing more orders, completely unwilling to suffer through this party sober. "This is my job, Chandler. My livelihood. This isn't some fun, flirty little game to me. I knew it was a mistake getting you involved in all of this."

I know I've crossed a line, and he backs off, defeated. I sigh, deciding to make my way over to the dance floor, leaving Chandler hunched over what drinks remain unfinished.

* * *

To Joey's credit, the party is fun. The music is crowd pleasing and I'm just tipsy enough that I feel myself begin to loosen up as Madonna plays over the speaker.

"Mon!" I hear a shout from nearby.

Joey embraces me in a tight hug, clearly having the time of his life.

"You're really living it up tonight, Joe!" I shout back.

"Dance with me!" he says with a grin, and I join him, finally matching his enthusiasm as we enjoy each other's company.

From across the room, another man locks eyes with me, and as I sustain the eye contact curiously, he makes his way over.

"Who's that?" I ask Joey.

"No clue. You should totally go for it, though, look at the guy!" He's tall, muscular, with dark brown hair and dark eyes. The type that I would usually go for if I still involved herself in such things.

My thoughts flick back to Chandler. Chandler, who's the sweetest, funniest, most caring and attentive guy that I've ever met. God, I've been single too long, I think to myself. I know a nice man for three days and my mind starts spiralling like I'm in love.

I engage in a casual back in forth with Jamie, as I learn his name is, and I so badly long to feel that same spark with him as I do with Chandler just to confirm that it's my hormones going crazy or loneliness kicking in and that Chandler's not special, he isn't, it's just that he's decent and attractive and clearly I'm getting carried away.

There's no spark. Some dark part of me longs for Jamie to reveal himself an asshole so I'll have some justification for the fact that I feel absolutely nothing towards him.

But he's not an asshole. He's perfect. He's just not —

I pull Jamie's lips down to mine, willing my mind to shut up, unable to think of a better option in the moment. We make out hotly and it's a sufficient distraction for a bit. Kissing is fine when it's not with a client.

But as much as I try, I can't get Chandler out of my head, can't shake the thought that I'm being unfaithful to him even though I know it's ridiculous. I pull back shamefully, and my eyes scanning the room in an attempt to avoid Jamie's eyes at all costs.

My worst fears come true when I see Chandler a few feet away, taking in the scene as it unfolds, his expression blank, before he slips out the door, away from the commotion of the party.

I give Jamie a weak smile and walk away, my legs slightly wobbly, dropping Joey a "he's all yours" as I brush past him, determined to find Chandler.

* * *

"Chandler!" I call out, finally catching sight of him leaning on a wall outside the building, lighting up a cigarette. I whip my heels off and start running, wanting to explain myself as soon as possible.

"I have nothing to say to you," he says.

"Well, I have something to say," I reply. He continues smoking quietly, and I take it as an invitation to continue.

"Look, I'm sorry you had to see that. I didn't mean to rub it in your face the way I did. I wouldn't do that. You know I care about you, Chandler." Chandler's face softens and I hate myself for doing this to him.

"Just let me know one thing," he says, his voice not much more than a whisper. It's an oddly quiet night in New York City.

I swallow, gesturing for him to proceed.

"Why are you okay kissing him, but not me?" He seems so small like this. I just want to reach out and hug him and make him understand.

"You're my client, Chandler. The rules are different. He's a random guy I'll never see again. Sex workers are allowed to have romantic lives outside of their careers, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry." Chandler mutters. "Is that really the full reason?"

"It doesn't matter," I say, not wanting to lie, but not knowing what good it would do to be honest. "What matters is that's the way it is."

He sighs and shakes his head, taking several deep breaths as if trying to muster the courage for whatever he wants to say next.

"Then I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore."

I don't know what I was expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn't that.

"What?" I ask, shellshocked. "But we agreed —"

"Monica, I like you. A lot. And I know we haven't known each other long, but I can already tell that this only ends one way. With me getting my heartbroken. And I can't go through it, not again, not so soon after Kathy. This is your life, and I respect that. In return, please respect the fact that this can't continue. I know, we signed the agreement, whatever, I can still make the payments if you want. But I just can't… be with you. Not if it's not in the way that I really want."

I feel my eyes prick with tears as he caresses my cheek and gazes into my eyes, as if trying to commit me to memory. As if this is the last time he plans to see me.

"I'm sorry, Monica. I hope you find happiness. I do."

I close my eyes as he kisses me gently on the cheek, lingering for a few seconds, allowing me to breathe him in. I feel myself frozen in place and with that, he leaves me, rejoining the party.

* * *

"Rachel, I need to talk to you," I say the moment I stumble home into my apartment. It's fair to say that my conversation with Chandler killed any party spirit I had left in me, and I decided to Uber back alone.

"What's up, Mon?"

"It's Chandler," I burst out, unable to keep the thoughts of the man who has plagued my mind for the last few days at bay.

Rachel pauses. I look up at her expectant face, wondering whether it's too late to back out of this conversation that I'm already regretting starting.

"That dorky guy that Joey's taken in?" She asks quizzically.

I nod my head slowly, unable to hide my smirk at Rachel's description of Chandler. She raises her eyebrows, clearly noticing.

"This is really bad but please don't act too alarmed, okay?"

"What happened? Monica, you're scaring me," Rachel frets.

"It's not that kind of bad, it's just… look, I have feelings for him, okay?" I swear Rachel's jaw hits the floor at my admission.

"Monica, that's great!" Rachel exclaims as I desperately try to hush her. "When did this… start?"

"It's _not_ great, it's not even just good. He's paid me for sex a few times and we just wrote up a formal contract to make him my sole client but I know that he wants more because he just said that he's calling the deal off and I barely know the guy and I already know I want him to be my stupid boyfriend," I ramble.

"It's about time!" Rachel says happily, completely oblivious of any potential obstacles to what she seems sure is a budding romance.

"It's not the right time, though. At all. He wants to be exclusive and having sex with people is my job, Rachel!"

"Is it, though? You just said that you've made him your only client."

"You know what I mean!" I say, exasperated. "You know that I don't want to do this forever. But it's all I have right now. The risk is too great. I don't exactly have a glowing resume."

"Don't sell yourself short, Mon. You want know what I think?" she takes my hand in hers. "I think you want me to push you towards Chandler and to start a new chapter. I've always told you that you shouldn't give up this career for some guy if that's not what you want. But this isn't your dream. You deserve to do what makes you happy."

I feel my eyes well up. Other people may have judged or scolded me for taking the path I did, but not Rachel. She's only ever had my best interests at heart. And I know that she's right.

"But if I stop… then what? The idea of it is just so scary. I've had a good life doing what I do and I won't have that security anymore."

"Be brave. Do this for you. And by the way, Joey was telling me something about a catering opportunity at the off-Broadway theatre he's working at right now. It pays really well. Apparently he recommended you highly and, uh, the manager wants to meet you!"

I roll my eyes.

"Really? You couldn't have led with that?"

Rachel just laughs.

"I can't guarantee that it'll come to anything, but it's worth a try. If not, something else will come along. You've worked your ass off these last few years and you've got savings. We've all been through periods of unemployment, I know I have, and you've always supported me, Monica. So I'm gonna support you. So will Joey, and Ross, and Phoebe. And so will Chandler."

I blush, looking down at my lap.

"You should talk to him," she says with a wink, and in a flash I'm left alone in our kitchen with just one goal on my mind.

Chandler.

* * *

I knock on his door. It's late, but I heard him get back a few minutes ago, so I'm assuming that he's still up. And that it's not Joey that I heard.

Shit. What if Chandler went back to some girl's place and he's not even home?

Thankfully, he opens up after just a few seconds. Joey is nowhere to be seen inside. She says a silent thank you to him and his womanising ways.

"We need to talk," I say. Chandler looks exhausted, but makes way to let me in.

"This better be good," he says.

"It is. I think," I say softly. There's a flash of hope in his eyes.

"You're right, I can't tell you that this deal we made is what I truly want. You're right that it's not the only reason why I can't kiss you."

"What's the other reason, then?" he says, his voice full of promise.

"It's because if I kiss you, I'm worried that I won't be able to stop. That I'll want to kiss you every time I see your face when we wake up in the morning, every time you look at me before you leave my apartment, every time I see your damn face."

Chandler looks like he can't believe this is happening.

"I really like you too, Chandler. I can't believe I actually developed feelings for one of my clients, but I did. And I have to face up to that."

The man lets out a breath that he's probably been holding this entire conversation.

"And I know what you want to say. That you can't be with me as long as I'm still doing what I do. You want exclusivity and commitment and you shouldn't apologise for it. And I know that even though I just told you I have feelings for you, you're not going to say any of that. Because you don't want to make me feel pressured in choosing between my career and you."

Chandler nods his head slowly.

"I can't ask that of you," he confirms, tears in his eyes, and it breaks my heart seeing him so conflicted.

"You don't need to," I say. His brow furrows, clearly not understanding.

"You don't need to, because I've already decided. I'm giving up being an escort. I have nothing but respect for this profession and the people who partake in it and I even have some fond memories here and there —" I say with a wink — "but it's time to move on. I've been stuck and in a rut and I'm not doing it for you, but I think that it took meeting you to realise that it's what I need to do."

Chandler slowly allows a grin to spread across his face, his eyes still misty, and I find myself mirroring his expression.

"So… where does this leave us?"

I go on tiptoes slightly and cup his face.

"I want to be with you, Chandler. I know that it's fast and it might not work out, but I've never felt this way about anyone. We at least have to try."

"I'm down for that," Chandler says, placing his hands over mine. I stifle a giggle.

"We're really doing this, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah, we are."

"Good. I want to be with you too, Monica. So bad."

After what seems like agonisingly long hours of waiting, Chandler removes his hands, placing them under my chin, tilting my head up to meet his. Our lips collide, our tongues meet and it's like the final piece of the puzzle slotting into place. It's intimate and sexy and rough and gentle and it's _everything._ The cliché about fireworks has never been more true.

We eventually come up for air, and the loving look in Chandler's eyes takes my breath way.

"To think we could've been doing that all along…" Chandler says in disbelief at what just happened.

"It's been, like, not even a week," I say, rolling my eyes affectionately.

"Oh, shhh, I'm trying to be romantic," he says, lifting me up, taking us both to the bedroom, where we finally get to do this properly. For real.

* * *

 **A/N: I won't be writing any more chapters to this or any more fic for Mondler. But I'm so grateful to you all for sticking with me and leaving such kind feedback :) I hope this was a good ending. Thanks for reading! xoxo Becca**


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